


A Safe Spot Within Every Tornado

by liggytheauthoress



Series: Melt the Elements 'Verse [6]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-05 00:49:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15852840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liggytheauthoress/pseuds/liggytheauthoress
Summary: "It’s a warm, humid evening in August when Goodnight Robicheaux walks into the saloon. He’s tired, hungry, and thirsty enough to probably drink the saloon dry, so his entrance is much less dramatic than he usually likes them to be."The story of how Billy and Goody met and became what they are today.Written for Tumblr's Magnificent Seven Big Bang.





	A Safe Spot Within Every Tornado

**Author's Note:**

> Miracle of miracles, I finally finished the Goodrocks prequel I've been wanting to write since the start of this series. Shout out to the organizers of the Mag7 Big Bang for actually giving me the motivation to finish it.
> 
> Also a HUGE shout out to my artist, Tumblr user starsgoup (check out their blog here: http://starsgoup.tumblr.com/) for the breathtaking fanart that I haven't stopped screaming about since I saw it. I dedicate this fic to them and I hope my words do their art justice.
> 
> ALSO also, quick plug for my best friend's (AO3 user dutchydoescoke) Big Bang fic "The Song Has Been Sung" which will be posted in a few days: it's beyond amazing, they've worked their ass off on it, so please keep an eye out for it in the tags and maybe show them some love if you get the chance.

He wasn’t always Billy Rocks.

That much can be deduced with just one glance at his face - nobody would believe someone who looks like him was born with such a Western name. And they would be right; he hadn’t been. Once he’d had a name that had been as out-of-place in this country as everything else about him, one that white men would stumble over and poke fun at when they heard it, but one that he’d carried with pride.

But he’d left that name behind him a long time ago.

He’d left a lot of things behind with it, too.

Korea had been the first thing he’d left. He barely remembers the voyage over, his only memories the hazy recollections of salty air and the rocking of the boat, and he remembers Korea even less. His parents had discouraged looking back, saying life in America would be better for all of them.

Parents. He’d had them, once upon a time. Siblings, too - three sisters and a brother, all older than him. One sister had only been older by less than a year, so it made sense she was the one he was closest to. Song-yi had been everything to him and he would have done anything for her, even given his own life to protect her.

In a way, that’s exactly what he’d ended up doing.

He’d just turned thirteen, and he’d gone with his mother and sisters into town, having nothing better to do that day. He had wandered for a while, something he was prone to doing, but he’d come running when he heard his sister’s voice shouting for help.

When he’d stumbled around a corner to find a man trapping Song-yi against the wall of an alley, one hand reaching down towards the hem of her skirt, he hadn’t thought. He just reacted.

Bending came to him as naturally as breathing, it always had, and he didn’t stand a chance against that brute of a man in a fistfight. So he’d brought his hands up and sent a pointed burst of air right at the man’s neck.

The blood hadn’t bothered him as much as the horrified look on his sister’s face did.

And then their mother had found them, and she didn’t even give him time to explain himself before she was screaming at him, demanding if he realized what he’d done.

He’d protected his sister, that was what he had done.

Apparently that answer wasn’t the right one.

He had known that some airbenders used their bending for lethal purposes, but his family had been strict followers of the pacifist code for generations. He’d grown up being taught the importance of that creed, been reminded over and over again, and up until that moment, he had followed it too.

But he would have thought that killing to protect his family was a forgivable offense.

It wasn’t.

* * *

His parents had thrown him out that evening.

Song-yi had grabbed him as he was leaving, whispering for him to meet her in the cemetery on the edge of town in an hour, and he couldn’t turn down the chance to say goodbye to her. So he’d gone, staying out of sight as he watched them burying the very man he’d killed earlier that day.

It felt like watching himself be buried.

When his sister finally appeared, it was with tears on her face and a pack she shoved roughly into his arms. “Be safe,” she whispered, hugging him fiercely. “And thank you.”

He hugged her back and kissed the top of her head, willing himself not to cry. “I don’t regret it,” he said softly.

“I know.” She pulled back and cupped his face in her hands. “Will I ever see you again?”

He couldn’t answer that. So he just hugged her again. “Don’t forget me.”

“Never.”

“You should get back.”

“Where will you go?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Away.” He turned his gaze south. “Far away, probably.” He turned back and did his best to look reassuring. “I’ll be all right. I promise.”

He’d made her leave then, watching her go until she’d disappeared into the fading twilight. A quick glance into the pack told him she’d filled it with food, clothes, and one of the silver knives from the kitchen - for protection or hunting or eating, he didn’t know which.

As he slung the pack over his shoulder, he couldn’t stop himself from approaching the fresh grave he’d watched them fill in earlier. There was no headstone, but someone had fashioned a crude cross out of wood and roughly carved a name on the front. Maybe it was morbid curiosity, but he wanted to know who he had killed. Who had caused this.

The name on the cross read “ _William Rocks_ ”.

It was the oddest feeling, standing there. Like it wasn’t just a man buried beneath his feet. Everything he’d known up until now, that was buried under there too. His home, his family, his life, all of it. Gone the moment he’d killed that bastard, now buried with him under six feet of cold earth.

His name should be buried with them, he decided. He wasn’t that person anymore. He was a killer, a disgrace to his family and to airbenders, he didn’t deserve to keep carrying the name he’d been given.

So he chose a new name.

And left.

* * *

Which was the start of how he came to be in this shithole saloon in Texas, nine years later, with a dead man’s name, a three hundred dollar bounty on his head, and ten guns pointed at his face.

It’s a warm, humid evening in August when Goodnight Robicheaux walks into the saloon. He’s tired, hungry, and thirsty enough to probably drink the saloon dry, so his entrance is much less dramatic than he usually likes them to be.

Of course, when he sees what’s happening inside, he’s fairly certain he could have waltzed in stark naked and singing “The Yellow Rose of Texas” and still gone unnoticed.

He counts seven, eight...ten men with their guns drawn, all of them pointing at some unlucky bastard in the corner. Goody cautiously moves towards the bar, not wanting to get involved in whatever this is, but still wanting to see just who the hell managed to piss off the entire saloon this badly.

When he finally sees who it is, he resists the urge to chuckle.

Isn’t that a coincidence?

He’s been on the trail of this man for almost six weeks now, always one or two steps behind him, never quite catching up. Until now. In a way, Goody’s almost disappointed. He’s enjoyed this chase more than he’s enjoyed anything in a long time. And it looks like it’s about to come to a much more violent end than he’d intended it to.

He’s still debating whether or not he wants to step in - this _is_ his bounty, after all, and ten to one seems just a mite unfair - when Billy Rocks makes his move.

* * *

Billy had quietly pulled out one of his knives as soon as he’d sensed things were going south. He’ll give these idiots one last chance to back off, though - he’s only been in town for two days and he’d like to sleep in an actual bed for a little while longer before having to move on.

“I don’t want any trouble,” he says, keeping his tone light and casual. “Just a drink.”

“We told you, we don’t serve your kind in here,” one of the men says, the words “your kind” dripping off his tongue like he can’t even stand the taste of them. “We gave you a chance to leave. You didn’t take it.”

Billy glances at the weapons currently pointing at his head. “This seems...excessive.”

“We seen what you can do with those knives,” another man says. “That quick-draw contest this afternoon. Wouldn’t put anything past someone who can do that.”

Billy resists the urge to comment that his opponent had been the one to suggest using his knives. “So now what?”

The first man grins viciously and there’s the sound of multiple guns being cocked.

Well, then.

That answers that question.

Billy is out of his chair before the group can finish pulling back on the triggers, sending his knife through the throat of the first man while his free hand almost nonchalantly swipes way the bullets from the other men at the front of the group. He catches a glimpse of their shocked faces and resists the urge to smirk - they may have known about the knives, but they definitely didn’t know about the bending.

It doesn’t take more than a second for the men to recover, though, and Billy flips the table on its side just in time to block another barrage of bullets coming in on his right.

He shoots a couple of air blades at the two men closest to him before sending out a blast of air powerful enough to send everyone flying backwards. Most of them go crashing down, their guns falling to the floor, but one stays on his feet and has his gun aimed again instantly.

Billy pulls another knife from his belt and sends it straight into the man’s skull.

He senses movement from his other side and turns to see one of them lunging at him, having produce their own knife from somewhere, but as soon as he gets within striking distance Billy whips his hairpin out and stabs him in the neck.

One man has scrambled over and picked up one of the guns. Billy hears the hammer being cocked and waits.

As soon as the bullet has left the muzzle, Billy focuses a sharp burst of air that redirects it and sends it into the chest of the man standing next to the shooter.

He might not be able to bend metal, but he manages.

The two men closest to the door seem to have finally realized this isn’t a fight they can win, because with one final look at Billy’s feral glare they turn tail and run, not even stopping to collect their guns. The final two men exchange terrified looks, like they’re debating whether or not to follow, and Billy decides to help them make up their minds.

He brings his hands up, fingers curved like they’re grasping something tightly, and the men jerk like fish out of water as their breath is literally pulled from their lungs. Their eyes bulge as they quickly realize they can’t inhale, hands come up to claw at the nonexistent nooses around their necks.

“You’ll leave me alone from now on.” Billy’s tone doesn’t leave any room for argument - not that these two are capable of arguing much with anyone at the moment - and the men bob their heads frantically.

Billy waits a moment longer, then lets go. The men fall to the floor gasping for breath, and as soon as they’re able to get back on their feet they’re gone, leaving Billy alone with their fallen comrades.

Correction: _almost_ alone.

He had barely noticed the man coming in right before the fight; he’d been too focused on the guns pointed at him. But he notices the man now, standing against the bar and watching him like Billy is the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. He doesn’t look scared, but he doesn’t look like he’s after Billy’s hide either.

“ _T_ _hat_ ,” the other man remarks, “was the most impressive display I’ve seen in quite a long time,

Billy approaches him warily, because while it doesn’t seem like this man is interested in killing him, the airbender hasn’t survived this long by being careless.

“Not to be too forward, but may I buy you a drink?”

Slightly taken aback - which isn’t something that happens often - Billy nods. The other man grins, glancing at the empty space behind the bar. “Since the proprietor seems to have disappeared, I hope my own bartending abilities will be satisfactory. What are you drinking, _mon ami?_ ”

“Whiskey,” is all Billy says.

He realizes his knives and his hairpin are still sticking out of some of the nearby bodies and stops to retrieve them, wiping them off carefully with his handkerchief. By the time he reaches the bar, the other man has produced two full glasses of whiskey and is watching Billy with an intrigued look in his eyes.

“I make a point of never drinking with strangers,” the man says, sliding a glass across the bar. “Goodnight Robicheaux, at your service, sir.”

Billy tenses, fingers twitching towards his knives. “If you’re Goodnight Robicheaux, you probably already know my name.” He’d heard rumors that the so-called Angel of Death had taken up bounty hunting after the war ended.

If Robicheaux is here to collect on him, he’s in for a painful disappointment.

The man chuckles. “Indeed I do, Mr. Rocks. And I admit, I had been following you on behalf of the railroad. Your former employers, I believe?”

“‘Had?’” Billy squints at him. “Do you still intend to collect?”

The unspoken threat in his voice is clear, but Robicheaux doesn’t seem troubled by it. “Haven’t decided yet, to be honest.” He sips his whiskey almost primly, more like a Southern gentleman drinking mint julep on the veranda than a deadly sharpshooter out for Billy’s skin. “I’m a strong believer in the importance of first impressions, Mr. Rocks. And my first impression of you was that you aren’t the type to just up and kill a man without a good reason for it.”

Billy says nothing, so Robicheaux continues. “I’ve heard the railroad’s side of the story: you stabbed the foreman in broad daylight while the man’s back was turned. Now I want to hear _your_ side of things.”

“And you’d trust that I was telling the truth?” Billy asks, skeptical, because nobody _ever_ takes the word of someone who looks like him over a white man’s.

“First impressions.” Robicheaux smirks. “You don’t strike me as a liar, either.”

Billy regards the man in front of him for a long time before he speaks again. “The foreman abused his power. Treated the workers like his own personal slaves. And anyone who didn’t listen to him…” He felt his upper lip curl in disgust. “One day, I caught him beating a kid - couldn’t have been more than fifteen. The boy had collapsed from exhaustion, he kept begging for just a few minutes of rest, and this bastard just wouldn’t let up…”

He stares Robicheaux dead in the eye, challenging the man to call him a liar. “I didn’t want to kill him. He drew first. I just wanted him to leave the kid alone.”

And Robicheaux, to Billy’s astonishment, nods once. “I believe you.”

Billy isn’t quite sure how to respond to that, so he just tosses back the drink Robicheaux had poured for him. For several minutes, they stand there and drink in silence, but it’s a comfortable silence. Robicheaux never stops watching him, which should bother Billy, but doesn’t. Maybe because the man’s gaze is one of friendly curiosity instead of disdain.

He’s almost sorry to have to leave.

“Well. Thank you for the drink, Mr. Robicheaux.”

The other man smiles, and he sounds almost flirtatious when he replies, “Goodnight, please.”

Billy allows the corners of his mouth to twitch up in what usually passes for a smile with him. “I’ll be on my way, then.”

“I don’t suppose you’d do me the honor of joining me for breakfast tomorrow?”

There’s a moment where Billy almost says yes. He has no idea why - he’s not one to seek out companionship, especially with a man he’s just met; one who, until _very_ recently, was prepared to turn him in.

He writes it off as being due to the fact that Robicheaux - Goodnight - is the first person in a long time to treat him with respect, treat him as an equal, and leaves it at that.

“I’ll be leaving town tonight,” he says, wondering why he actually feels a pang of regret when he speaks. “Pretty sure I’ve worn out what welcome I had.” He gestures to the bodies on the floor.

Goodnight gives a small smile, one tinged with just a bit of melancholy. “A pity.” He raises his glass in Billy’s direction. “In that case, take care, Mr. Rocks. May we meet again.”

Billy resists the urge to tell Goodnight how unlikely that is and simply nods. “Take care, Goodnight.”

He’s not sure what makes him stop just inside the door, but he does, turning back and saying, “If we ever do cross paths again...call me Billy.”

* * *

Goody doesn’t stay too long in the saloon after Billy leaves. Dead people aren’t good company and he really just wants a bath and a bed.

But the powers that be have another plan in mind, it seems, since Goody doesn’t even make it over to the hotel before he hears a gun being cocked behind him and a voice he doesn’t recognize hissing, “Go for your gun and you’re a dead man.”

Slowly raising his hands in a show of submission, Goody glances over his shoulder. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of being introduced,” he says.

The stranger comes around until he’s standing in front of Goody, pistol pointed directly at the sharpshooter’s head. “I know who you are. Goodnight Robicheaux, Angel of fucking Death.”

“You have me at a disadvantage, Mister…?”

“Caleb Sterling. Don’t expect you to recognize my name, but maybe you remember my brother’s. John Sterling?” The man’s lips pull back in a hateful sneer. “You killed him six months ago.”

It only takes a moment for Goody to place the name. One of his first targets as a bounty hunter, John Sterling had been a deplorable excuse for a man. Goody hadn’t felt too guilty about that one.

“Your brother killed seven women,” Goody says, lowering his arms slowly enough to avoid startling Sterling.

“He was my brother!” Sterling shouts. “Killer or not, he was my brother and I loved him, and you shot him dead!” The hand holding his gun is jittery, but not enough to keep any bullet he fires from going right through Goody’s forehead. “I’m just returning the favor, you son-of-a-bitch.”

Goody’s fingers tense. He knows he can outdraw this kid easily. He doesn’t want to, but it doesn’t look like he’ll be able to talk the boy down, and Goody doesn’t particularly feel like dying tonight.

He’s about to go for his gun when he hears it. Quiet, in the distance, but the sound is unmistakeable: the low hoot of an owl.

Goody freezes.

The logical part of his brain knows there’s nothing supernatural about it. Just a damn bird, harmless to anyone bigger than a fieldmouse. Certainly not something capable of stalking him, following his every footstep and taking note of every life he’s taken since that first kill, waiting for the day comes for it to rain judgment upon him for all the men he’s killed…

That night might be tonight, because right now Goody can do nothing but watch as Sterling’s finger slowly tightens around the trigger of his gun.

And then, without warning, Sterling lets out a pained gasp and slumps forward. Goody gawks at the knife sticking out of the kid’s back, eyes slowly moving up to where Billy Rocks is nonchalantly standing about twenty feet away.

There’s silence as Billy strides forward to collect his knife and Goody takes several moments to process what just happened. The owl’s cry is still echoing in his ears, and he almost doesn’t hear Billy’s voice asking, “You all right?”

“...Yes?” Goody doesn’t mean for it to come out as a question. He forces himself to shake off the stupor, surprised and a little annoyed at this loss of composure. “I do believe I owe you a thank you, Mr. Rocks.”

Billy doesn’t exactly shrug, but there’s a slight twitch of his shoulders that implies a certain level of indifference. Whether it’s directed towards Goody’s life or simply the act of killing a total stranger in the middle of the street, Goody can’t say for sure - but he suspects it’s the latter.

Goody looks down at Sterling’s body with a frown. He can’t blame the kid for what he tried to do - he has no siblings of his own, but if he did, he imagines he would hold the same misguided loyalty towards them that Caleb Sterling did towards his brother.

“I may just follow your example and leave town this very minute,” Goody remarks. This encounter has left a sour taste in his mouth, and while he, unlike Billy, isn’t likely to face any real consequences for tonight, he’d rather put the town behind him as soon as possible.

Billy looks like he’s mulling something over in his mind, and Goody waits patiently for the airbender to speak. When he finally does, his words aren’t exactly what Goody was expecting to hear.

“We could ride together, if you want.”

Goody thinks about all the miles he’s travelled alone, sometimes going for weeks without seeing another person. He’s caught himself talking to his horse more times than he can count.

The possibility of having someone else with him, sharing his space, even for just a day or two, is a very tantalizing one.

“I’d like that very much, Mr. Rocks.”

Billy huffs in what Goody thinks might be amusement. “Billy, remember?”

Goody grins. “Billy, then.”

* * *

Billy can’t honestly say why he asked Goodnight to join him on the road. He’s a solitary man, usually quite content to spend weeks, sometimes months, on his own. But he’s enjoyed what little time he’s spent in Goodnight’s company.

And it’s been an achingly long time since he’s had anything close to resembling a friend.

So when Goodnight accepts his offer, Billy can’t deny that he’s pleased.

Even if he _will_ probably regret it at some point in the future.

Travelling with Billy turns out to be an unexpectedly enjoyable experience. He’s a man of very few words, but he doesn’t seem to mind Goody’s tendency to fill the silence with more words than are probably necessary.

Every so often, the airbender will interject with a wry comment of his own, and Goody would be lying if he said he wasn’t delighted to catch glimpses of the razor-sharp sense of humor concealed beneath that stoic exterior.

Goody expects Billy to only tolerate his company for a day or two - three at the most - but after a week has gone by and they’re still riding together, he starts to think that maybe Billy might enjoy the companionship. Billy doesn’t seem the type to stick around purely out of politeness, and Goody’s not forcing him to stay, so that doesn’t exactly leave too many alternatives.

It’s probably too soon to use the word “friends,” but in the privacy of his own mind, Goody uses it anyway.

* * *

Billy doesn’t ask about the nightmares.

Goody knows Billy knows about them. They aren’t hard to miss, Goody’s heard them described before. He’s woken himself up screaming more times than he can count, and most mornings there are bruises on his arms from his violent thrashing. So he knows it isn’t because Billy hasn’t noticed.

Billy just isn’t the type to pry, especially in regards to something so personal, and ironically, it’s that clearly defined respect for Goody’s privacy that compels him to talk about it.

“I had just turned twenty-one when the war started,” he says slowly, staring into the flames casting flickering shadows around the dry gully where they’re camped for the night. “I was already proficient with a rifle, but I had never shot anything I didn’t intend to eat.”

When he glances over at Billy, the younger man remains silent, but there’s a look on his face that seems to urge Goody to continue.

“One night, I got separated from the rest of our company. I must have made a sorry sight, stumbling around the swampland in the dark, trying to find the others.” He allows himself a small smile, wistfully recalling the innocence he’d possessed during those first couple of weeks, looking at war as just an exciting adventure, something to tell stories about in saloons years later while women listened with wide-eyed fascination.

“I had the misfortune to run into a Union scout.”

Goody digs his nails into his palm, the memories as clear as if it had happened yesterday. Him and the Yankee, staring one another down, both with their guns drawn. It had been deathly quiet that night, without so much as a cricket chirping.

The silence was the reason Goody was so startled by the sudden hooting of an owl. It had been almost deafening, and as Goody had jolted in surprise, his finger had convulsed around the trigger of his gun.

“We could have both left alive that night,” Goody says softly when he’s finished recounting the scene to his companion in hushed, somber tones. “There was...so very little to be gained by one of us killing the other.”

The air had been saturated with the scent of blood, so heavy Goody could almost taste it, and he swears he can smell it again now.

“Every time I killed a man after that night...It was like I was shooting that scout all over again. Even when I _had_ to kill them, I could never quite avoid that same feeling of guilt.” He takes a long pull from his flask, knowing the alcohol won’t numb the gnawing feeling in his gut but hoping it will anyway. “I can remember every one of them.”

Neither of them say anything for a long time. Billy resumes cleaning his knives, and Goody finds himself just watching the airbender’s nimble fingers as they work with practiced ease.

“I was thirteen when I killed my first man.” Billy holds a blade up to examine it in the firelight. “He deserved it, but I still carry part of him with me.”

Billy offers no further information, and Goody wouldn’t dream of pressing him for any. He can’t help feeling honored that Billy has chosen to share even this small part of himself. It feels...intimate, somehow.

Goody has a feeling that Billy isn’t a man used to comforting people, but with this admission that he understands a little of what Goody feels about that night, the airbender has given him more comfort than Goody can express.

* * *

One night, they end up crammed together in a small cave, taking shelter from the snow. There’s just barely enough room for one bedroll. Goody suggests sleeping in shifts, but he’s exhausted, they both are, and Billy knows it.

“I don’t mind sharing if you don’t.”

Goody is no stranger to sharing a bedroll with another man - there were nights during the war he spent huddled in a tiny tent with half a dozen fellow soldiers - and while the idea of sharing such an intimate space with Billy is more appealing than he’d admit out loud, he knows the effect his night terrors are likely to have on the airbender’s sleep.

“I’m not exactly the most sedate bunkmate,” Goody says, knowing that Billy will know what he’s talking about. “And I know you’re a light sleeper.”

Billy just shrugs. “Doesn’t bother me.”

That’s how they end up pressed flush against each other, back-to-back, with the storm howling outside and their pitiful fire doing little to warm the space. Goody’s still comfortable, though - Billy’s body is a comforting weight against him, and their combined body heat is enough to ease the cold.

He falls asleep more quickly than he has in weeks.

And for the first time in what feels like an eternity, he sleeps soundly and peacefully for the entire night, without having to drown himself in whiskey first.

* * *

After three nights of being forced to share a bedroll with Goodnight, Billy is aware of two things.

The first is that Goodnight hasn’t had a single nightmare since this new sleeping arrangement has been put into practice.

The second is that sleeping so close to another person he’s known for less than a month _should_ be, at best, incredibly awkward - at worst, enough to drive Billy to borderline paranoia - but it isn’t.

Billy wouldn’t use the word “nice” to describe it, but…

It’s not terrible.

Anyway, the lack of nightmares means he no longer wakes up to Goodnight screaming and thrashing in the middle of the night, and it’s for this reason - and this reason alone - that Billy suggests making their sleeping arrangement permanent, and he makes sure to explain this when Goodnight stares at him questioningly.

It has nothing to do with the fact that Billy can’t remember the last time he’d felt safe enough around someone to let his guard down so completely, or that it’s been literal years since he’s had so much physical contact with someone who wasn’t trying to hurt him.

At least, that’s what Billy tells himself that night as he falls asleep to the sound of Goodnight’s steady breathing.

* * *

Weeks slowly turn into months, and neither of them leaves.

Every morning, Goody wakes up expecting to find that Billy has finally tired of his company and stolen away in the night, but the airbender is always there.

Goody suspects it’s at least partially because Billy faces less harassment from others while traveling with him. They’ve stopped in a few towns in the past several weeks, and while there are always people who look at Billy with prejudice in their eyes, very few of them seem willing to say or do anything about it with Goody around.

Still, Billy’s gotten along without Goody’s influence for many years. The younger man is more than capable of taking care of himself, and it would be foolish to assume Goody’s influence is enough to ever make him think twice about leaving.

The business arrangement Goody proposes has less to do with a need for money and more to do with him desperately wanting to give Billy a reason to stick around for much longer.

They’ve both encountered their share of quick draw contests over the years, and Goody has seen how profitable they can be if you know who to bet your money on. And he’s never seen anyone as fast as Billy - between his skills and Goody’s fast talking, they could probably make a small fortune.

“Naturally, any profits would be split solidly and fairly between us,” Goody assures him after outlining the proposal. Truth be told, he’s willing to offer Billy a larger share, if need be, but he doesn’t want to seem too eager. “No contracts, either - you’re free to bow out whenever you so choose.”

Billy stares at him for a while, long enough for Goody to regret even bringing the idea up. It had been a long shot, anyway - it’s not as though he has anything to truly entice Billy into staying with him, Lord knows why the airbender is still here…

“All right.”

Goody is pulled from his thoughts by the unexpected reply. “All right?” he repeats, unsure he heard correctly.

Billy gives a one-shouldered shrug. “All right. I need money for new knives, anyway.”

There’s something in Billy’s tone that reminds Goody how unlikely it was for him to ever earn Billy’s trust in any capacity. Goody’s still not sure how he managed it, but damn if he isn’t glad he did.

He makes a mental note to buy Billy the nicest knife he can find when they get to the next town.

* * *

Goodnight hadn’t been wrong when he’d said they could turn a serious profit from this new “business arrangement,” as he’d called it. Billy has never been one for false humility - he knows he’s good. He’s entered his fair share of quick draw contests in the past, but the usual white man’s prejudice meant his prize for winning was an accusation of cheating and a friendly suggestion that he get out of town while he still could.

The accusations still come, of course. But all Goodnight has to do is mention his name, and everyone shuts their mouth immediately. Billy is still often on the receiving end of some dirty looks, but nothing more.

It occurs to Billy that he should probably feel like his talents are being exploited, as they have been by plenty of other men in the past, but he doesn’t. Maybe it’s because Goodnight is always sure to pay him his half of their winnings as soon as they’ve been collected - and frankly, he’s pretty certain Goodnight has slipped an extra dollar or two into Billy’s share more than once.

Not only that, but Goodnight, without fail, checks with him before entering every contest, making sure Billy is still okay with it. At first, Billy thinks that it might just be a formality, that Goodnight might not be as willing to accept a refusal as he seems. But when Billy tests this theory one afternoon, claiming that he’s too tired, Goodnight doesn’t push. The older man drops the matter immediately and offers to buy Billy a stiff drink instead. Just like that.

Billy isn’t used to people respecting his boundaries. Somehow, though, Goodnight’s clear regard for them doesn’t surprise him as much as it normally would. It’s taken a long time for Billy to suss out just what he thinks Goodnight wants from him, but he’s fairly certain of it by now.

Goodnight just wants a friend. Because somehow, the living legend with the silver tongue and charisma to spare seems to have been a profoundly lonely man before Billy Rocks came along, and while their backgrounds couldn’t be less similar if they tried, Goodnight seems to have found a kindred spirit in Billy.

And Billy, one in Goodnight.

Loneliness isn’t as a foreign a concept to Billy as he likes to let people believe. And the funny thing is, he hasn’t experienced any true feelings of loneliness since he and Goodnight rode out of that first Texas town together.

He has no idea how long this will last, this friendship - because that’s what it’s become, a friendship - but he hopes it won’t end anytime soon.

* * *

Sometimes Goody forgets that just because _he_ is no longer hunting Billy, it doesn’t mean nobody else is interested in collecting the bounty on the airbender’s head.

He’s reminded of it one evening when Billy doesn’t come back from checking on their horses.

* * *

Billy’s still not sure how anyone managed to get the jump on him. Being an airbender meant he was far more sensitive to changes in the air caused by movement, making him difficult to sneak up on most of the time. He’d been distracted, yes, thinking about the warm bed waiting for him in the hotel (and before that, the nightcap Goodnight had suggested), but that was no excuse.

Still, fretting over what lead to this situation won’t get him out of it.

He tests the ropes around his wrists and ankles again, but they refuse to give, and the attack left his limbs weak and relatively useless, so he slumps back into the dirt and glares at the trio of men sitting around a campfire a few feet away.

Billy doesn’t like to admit to being helpless, and he’s not admitting to it now.

But things aren’t looking good for him.

He knows that Goodnight must have noticed his absence by now, but can he really expect any more than that? They’re friends, yes, but how far does that go?

He won’t lie, if their places were exchanged, he would almost definitely go after Goodnight, but he honestly doesn’t know how likely the sharpshooter is to come after him. And that’s assuming they’ve left enough of a trail for him to even follow.

No, he can’t depend on Goodnight as his only hope of escape. So Billy sighs and goes back to testing his bonds.

* * *

From what Goody was able to gather from the somewhat frightened stablehand - it wasn’t as though Goody _meant_ to intimidate the poor kid, but Billy is still missing and that’s rattling his calm more than he cares to acknowledge - a group of bounty hunters had arrived in town shortly after Billy had won the last round of the quick draw contest. When Billy had gone out to check the horses, they’d made their move.

Goody had been skeptical - he’s seen Billy fight off over three times that many men single-handedly - but what the stablehand had told him next made everything fall into place.

Chi blockers.

He’s heard of them, of course. People able to incapacitate a bender by blocking their energy with expert precision, sometimes badly enough to render the victim incapable not only of bending, but of moving as well.

And now three of them have Billy.

They have Billy, and they have a copy of the warrant Goodnight himself carried not so long ago, the one clearly stating “wanted dead or alive.”

 _Dead_ or alive.

As soon as the stablehand had given Goody a vague idea of what direction the group had gone, Goody was saddling up his horse.

He’s been lucky so far. The bounty hunters obviously aren’t concerned about whether or not they’ve left a trail to follow, and even if they had been, Goody did enough hunting as a boy to make tracking fairly easy.

Especially since the men he’s tracking have something that Goody, though he probably shouldn’t after so short a time (if at all), holds _very_ close to his heart and is prepared to go to great lengths to get back.

It’s been a few weeks since Goody first allowed himself to quietly acknowledge that his feelings for Billy might just go deeper than friendship. He has no illusions about his chances of ever getting anything beyond what they have now - Billy has never shown any interest in anyone, regardless of their sex, and even if he shares Goody’s preferences, that doesn’t mean he’d ever return the sharpshooter’s feelings.

Goody’s accepted that reciprocation is out of the question. He’s happy with Billy’s company, in whatever capacity the airbender chooses to give it.

But right now, the feelings he’s been doing his best to ignore are churning in his gut, urging him forward with deadly intent.

He can only pray that he finds Billy alive.

If he doesn’t…

Goody isn’t a vengeful person, but if the bounty hunters have permanently taken Billy from him, he’s willing to make an exception.

* * *

It’s almost dark when the cavalry arrives. The cavalry being one very angry, very loud Cajun descending upon the campsite like a banshee with a shotgun.

The first bounty hunter goes for his gun, only to shriek as a round goes through his shoulder. The other two scramble for their own guns, but a voice makes them freeze in their tracks.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, gentlemen.”

Goodnight’s voice is harsher and harder than Billy has ever heard it. He’s heard Goodnight sound annoyed, irritated, angry even. But never with such a cold, dangerous timbre to it, like a deadly promise.

Suddenly Billy can see just why the name Goodnight Robicheaux strikes such fear into men when they hear it.

“I have reason to believe you’re holding an associate of mine here against his will, and I must say, that doesn’t quite sit right with me.”

Billy smirks behind the gag as the bounty hunters turn to look at where he’s almost facedown on the ground. One of the men says, “You mean him?”

“The very same. I would appreciate you untying him and letting us both leave without any further trouble.”

“Is that a fact?” The second hunter, obviously the leader, looks amused. “And just who the hell do you think you are, mister?”

“I am a man rapidly losing his patience. Now will you let him go, or will I be obliged to use this again?” Goodnight raises the shotgun just a little.

“Go to hell, this here’s _our_ prize and _we’ll_ be collecting the reward money. So you best just turn around and go back where you came from.” The leader scoffs, looking Goodnight up and down with derision. “Rich-looking fella like you should be able to afford a new manservant. This one’s no good, anyway, too much attitu-”

The man’s sentence is cut off by a loud shotgun blast that neatly excavates his skull. The remaining unharmed bounty hunter swears and makes another dive for his gun, but a second blast sends a round through his head and stops him for good.

The first bounty hunter, still clutching his injured shoulder, is staring at Goodnight with wide, terrified eyes. Goodnight dismounts his horse slowly, shotgun still aimed, and approaches the man, who visibly shrinks back in fear.

“I want you to listen to me before I let you go,” Goodnight says, barely loud enough for Billy to hear. “He is not my servant. He is my business partner. More importantly, he is my friend. And it’s important to me that you know that.” He grabs the man by his shirtfront and leads him over to where the bounty hunters’ horses are standing. “Now you’re going to go back into town, and if you see us again, you’re not going to give us any trouble whatsoever. Do I make myself clear, son?”

The bounty hunter nods jerkily, but says nothing, so Goodnight repeats, “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes...yes, sir, thank you, sir.”

“Good. Off you go, then.”

“Yes, sir.”

It takes a couple of tries, due to both the hunter’s injured shoulder and the tremors of fear making his legs unsteady, but he finally gets into the saddle and is off like a shot, heels digging into the horse’s sides, without even a glance back at his fallen companions.

The moment the bounty hunter is out of sight, Goodnight is on his knees at Billy’s side, yanking the gag from his mouth and undoing the ropes around his wrists and ankles with trembling hands.

“Are you all right?” Goodnight’s voice is uneven, without a trace of the calm menace it had held just moments ago. Billy struggles to sit up properly, and when he slumps against the other man’s shoulder Goodnight’s tone shifts to one of alarm. “Billy, _are you all right?_ ”

“Fine,” Billy mutters. “Blocking just hasn’t completely worn off yet.” He glances past Goodnight’s shoulder at the corpses of the other two hunters. “Was all of that really necessary?”

Goodnight’s jaw clenches as he looks back at his handiwork. “One of them was going for his gun.”

“The other wasn’t.”

“The other insulted you.”

Billy doesn’t have a response to that. He’s never met anyone willing to kill a man for him before, much less kill a man merely for insulting him (well, in addition to the attack and attempted abduction, he reasons). He knew Goodnight held him in relatively high regard, but this...This is unexpected.

“Can you stand?” Goodnight asks, wrapping a careful arm around Billy’s waist.

“With a little help.”

Goodnight’s touch is gentle as he helps Billy to his feet. Billy’s legs still aren’t as steady as he’d like them to be, and he wobbles a little before leaning against Goodnight’s chest for support. Normally, Billy would rather die than show such weakness in front of another person, but with Goodnight, after what’s just happened, he can’t bring himself to put up a front. The arm around his waist is warm and comforting and makes all the residual aches and pains in his body lessen more than a little bit.

“We’ll have to go back for your horse,” Goodnight remarks as they start walking towards his own horse.

“Don’t know if I can ride without falling off yet.”

“Do you think I would let you fall off, _mon cher ami?_ ”

Billy is too tired to question the endearment, and he’s in no state to refuse Goodnight’s help, so he lets the older man help him onto the horse before Goodnight swings up into the saddle behind him. He’s caged in between Goodnight’s arms this way, leaning back against the man’s chest.

It should feel awkward.

It doesn’t.

It feels like home.

He’s asleep before they’re even a third of the way back.

* * *

It’s like something has shifted between them after that. Not in an unpleasant way, but something has definitely changed in their dynamic.

Feelings that Billy has never harbored towards anyone in a long time - if ever - are rising to the forefront of his mind, refusing to be ignored. What’s more, he’s not sure he _wants_ to ignore them.

And he thinks Goodnight might, just might, feel the same way about him.

* * *

It all comes to a head one afternoon in late April.

They’ve been in Kansas for a couple of days now, traveling north without any particular destination in mind. The sky has been dark all day, but both men are eager to get to a town where they can sleep in a proper bed, maybe even have a bath, so they press on. A little rain won’t hurt.

However, around four o’clock, the sky suddenly takes on a greenish hue, and the air becomes very, very still, and Goody curses. He’s only seen a tornado a couple of times before in his life, but he knows the warning signs.

He also knows that there’s no shelter around them for miles.

“Billy,” he says slowly.

“I know.” Billy’s gaze is darting about as he evaluates the terrain around them. He points to a small, shallow depression in the earth not far from where they are. “There.”

“That won’t be enough-”

“Do you trust me?” Billy looks at him with an urgent, earnest expression that makes Goody’s objections stop in his throat.

“Of course,” Goody tells him, because it’s the truth.

They dismount and lead their horses over to the spot Billy pointed out. It’s even less impressive up close, but Billy seems to have a plan in mind, so Goody obeys when the other man tells him to stay close to the ground and hold onto the horses.

They crouch close together, shoulders touching, and wait.

The wait isn’t a long one.

As if it’s targeting them personally, the tornado begins to form almost directly over their heads. Goody bites his lip to keep from saying anything and instead looks over at Billy, who’s watching the sky with so much intensity that Goody thinks a bird flying overhead would burst into flames if it flew under Billy’s direct gaze.

Once it starts forming, the tornado grows quickly, whipping the grass around them into a frenzy and sending a deafening roar through Goody’s skull. The horses are tugging at the reins, and despite his unwavering trust in Billy, he can’t help but say, “Perhaps it would be more prudent to try and outrun it?”

Billy looks at him then, and a rare grin spreads across his face. “I’m an airbender, remember?”

And then he stands up and holds out his arms.

Just as the tornado begins to touch down, Billy moves, swinging his hands in a swift arc. The wind has blown his hair out of its usual braid and the dark strands are dancing around his face like they’ve got a mind of their own, and his eyes are burning with resolve.

He’s the most beautiful goddamn thing Goody has ever seen in his entire life.

The tornado is almost on them when Billy starts spinning on his the balls of his feet, hands moving in tight circles before stretching out to either side.

When the tornado reaches them, it doesn’t hit them.

It moves _around_ them. Like the Red Sea, parting for Moses.

Goody gapes as the fury on either side of them rages with relentless force, only to be held at bay by Billy Rocks’s dance.

Because that’s what it is, a dance, this spinning and twisting with impossible, almost ethereal, grace. He has never looked more alive than he does in this moment, commanding the very forces of nature to do his bidding. Goody can’t even breathe, he’s so transfixed by the sight, and idly he wonders if he might not die today anyway.

If this is the last thing he sees on this earth, Goody will die a very happy man.

He has no idea how much time passes - maybe seconds, maybe a lifetime - before the tornado has passed them. Even then, Billy doesn’t stop, shielding himself and Goody from any residual wind and debris, the dance continuing until finally, _finally_ , the tornado has disappeared over the horizon.

Only then does Billy stop moving. With a loud exhale, he brings his arms down and drops to his knees, but shows no other signs of fatigue besides the slight heaviness in his breathing. He looks at Goody, eyes wild and bright, and gives a feral grin. “You all right?”

Goody has always been proud of his way with words, of his ability to master different languages, but right now, he’s not sure he’s even capable of speaking English.

He tries anyway. “That...You…” Not a great start, but he pushes on. “That was...You are…” He racks his brains for something, anything even remotely intelligent to say, but the only word that he can come up with is, “ _Beautiful_.”

There. He said it, he can’t take it back, and now he has to deal with the consequences. Suddenly facing a tornado doesn’t seem so terrifying.

Billy’s grin doesn’t fade. Instead, it morphs into something softer, warmer, full of what Goody can only call affection. Goody feels his heart pounding in his chest and silently pleads with it not to give out on him.

A moment later, Billy is lunging forward and crashing his mouth against Goody’s with the same passion and energy he showed holding off the wind just a few minutes ago.

Goody doesn’t think. He just reacts.

His fingers come up to tangle tightly in Billy’s hair as he kisses back with all the strength he can muster, pulling Billy down on top of him as a chorus of  _"finally"_  echoes in his head. It’s everything he never let himself imagine and more, and Goody can’t help but wonder if he didn’t actually die back there, because if there’s a Heaven, this surely must be it.

The next minutes are a frenzy of mouths and tearing at clothes and skin on skin. It’s not gentle, but there’s a tenderness in its furor.

When Goody finally comes back to full awareness, he’s on his back, Billy tucked into his side. The airbender’s face is pressed into his neck, mouth leaving light nips on the sweaty skin. “If I had known this is what it would take to make this happen,” Billy murmurs, “I would have conjured up a tornado weeks ago.”

“Can you actually do that, _mon amour_?”

Billy props himself up on Goody’s chest and grins at him. “Don’t know. Never tried.”

Goody laughs, happier than he has any right to be, and surges up to bring his lips to Billy’s again.

* * *

From that moment on, they never look back. They fight and kiss and hold tight to one another, neither of them quite sure how they reached this point, but damn glad they did. Come hell or high water, they’re together, and that’s how they intend for it to remain.

And then one day, years down the line, they find themselves in a town called Volcano Springs.


End file.
